A Strange Kind Of Revolution
by avrovulcan
Summary: Illya and Napoleon decide a change is needed at HQ. Originally posted for Picfic Tuesday on LJ.


Solo and Kuryakin made their way to the commissary to see what was on offer for lunch. Bypassing the 'Tuesday Surprise', _"It looks like something they scraped off the road," the Russian muttered_, and picking up coffee and sandwiches instead; they returned to the office they shared, spending the rest of the day filing their reports and catching up on other paperwork that had gathered while they'd been away on their last assignment.

"That is the last one done, are you hungry, Napoleon?"

The American looked up from the file he was reading, "I don't know how you get through them so quickly, I obviously don't give you enough," he sighed, "but yes, I am getting peckish, shall we call it a day?"

"Da, let us see if dinner is any more appetising than the road kill they tried to palm off on us earlier."

"I doubt it, but we can always hope."

When they arrived at the canteen, they found the meals not much better than before. Making their choice, they found a table and gingerly tried the 'beef hotpot'.

"I think I have had better food when being held by THRUSH." Illya commented after sampling the fare.

"Mmm, I'd have to agree with you there," the American grinned, "hey, you don't think we could send Cookie Sam over to our feathered friends do you? Maybe then we wouldn't need to fight them."

"It is an idea, but what would we do? We would soon get bored."

"That's true and how would you survive, not having to blow things up?" Solo pushed the offending plate away and pulled several dollar bills from his pocket, absent mindedly folding them around each other in boredom.

"That solves it then, we are stuck with Sam. Maybe we could buy him a new recipe book," the Russian suggested.

"No, have you seen how many he's already got? I think what we need is one of these." He slid the mass of folded bills across the table,

"Dollars? How are they going to help?"

"Read what they say."

"I know what they say Napoleon, I have lived here for several years; I do not understand your point."

"No, look closer. I've made the lettering spell out something." Solo smirked.

"We need a revolution. Ahh, now I understand," the Russian grinned.

"What we don't want to do is upset Cookie, he's been with us a long time." An idea hit the American, "I wonder if we could get the Old Man to agree to bring in a new chef with some fresh ideas, maybe as an 'assistant' to Sam, then hopefully he will not think we are trying to get rid of him."

"Da, and knowing Waverly, he'll make Cookie believe it was all his own idea."

"I think we'll need to get everyone on board and behind us before the Chief will even consider it, but it'll have to be done quietly, or else he'll stop it before it's even begun."

"This is going to be a strange kind of revolution," Illya grinned.

It took the best part of two weeks to get the message around headquarters without Mr. Waverly finding out about it. Just about everyone had signed a petition, some even sending in notes containing their thoughts about the culinary offerings available.

Illya had even managed to do a scientific study of the food available in the commissary, and the effects on the performance and morale of staff when they had eaten there. He compared it to when tasty home cooking was brought in by several willing members of the typing pool and telecommunications personnel; the results finding a significant increase in the quality of work and happiness of employees when not eating the canteen fare.

Solo and Kuryakin stood in The Old Man's office, paperwork in hand.

"I understand you have a request Mr. Solo?"

"Yes sir, of sorts. Err, we feel the standards of the meals served here are not as good as they were."

Kuryakin placed the petition, notes and his study on the table and turned it until the documents were in front of the Chief.

He picked them up and quickly scanned them, bushy eyebrows raised, "Oh, a revolution of sorts? Carry on please."

Illya cleared his throat, "We think that Sam, um, Mr. Denby, may be struggling to cope with the running of the commissary. We do not mean to be disrespectful sir, knowing he has been here since the start; but we thought maybe he could do with some 'help'."

"I see, hmm. I know he is not getting any younger, and I happen to agree the food is not as appetising as it used to be," Waverly said, "I can see it is time something needs to be done," he nodded to himself, thinking quietly for a few seconds, "I will speak with him tomorrow. Good evening gentlemen."

Three weeks later, Solo and Kuryakin stopped by the commissary after returning from a brief assignment. They were surprised to see several new dishes on the counter; they looked and even smelled appetising. Unable to make a single choice, Illya had a sample of each.

"Well, I see the Old Man was good to his word."

"Da, our little revolution seems to have worked," the Russian swallowed another mouthful, "this chilli really is very good, as is the fish and the pork ribs in maple sauce."

Napoleon shook his head and made a face, "I'm glad I'm not your stomach, you'd better get some antacids from the pharmacy before you go home."

Napoleon smiled as he ate his choice of steak pie, accompanied with new potatoes, peas and gravy; closing his eyes in bliss as he savoured each mouthful. "You're right my friend, this really is very good."

"Napoleon, Illya."

They looked up to see Cookie and another younger man walking towards them.

"What do you think of our new menu? My nephew here has joined us and put it together. Martin, may I introduce you to Napoleon Solo, our CEA and Illya Kuryakin, his partner."

"Pleased to meet you." Martin replied, smiling as he shook hands with both agents, "I've heard a lot about you from Uncle Sam."

"Glad you have come to join us," Illya replied.

"Not as glad as I am, I'd been finding it hard to run the canteen. Don't look so surprised you two," Cookie glanced at the two agents, "I know the food wasn't as appetising as I'd have liked it to be, it was the best thing Alexander did, to allow me to ask Martin to join me, he's breathed new life into this old chef. We'll leave you to finish your meals."

Napoleon grinned as he watched the two men retreat to the kitchen, followed soon after by his partner.

"What are you after now,_ tovarisch_?"

"Some of that interesting looking pasta, then a slice of chocolate cake."

"Want to move our office in here? Because I don't think I'm going to be able to keep you out," Solo sighed.

"Would Mr. Waverly allow that?"

"I suppose we could always start another petition."


End file.
